


The Whimsical Adventures of Aigis

by humanbeingman



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Epistolary, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-19 19:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17007813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanbeingman/pseuds/humanbeingman
Summary: It can be hard to live a boring life when you're a robot girl hanging out with an ace detective, immortal elevator attendant and... Fuuka... living in a whole new city! Aigis is about to learn that maybe being an ordinary girl isn't as easy as it seems...





	1. Where I Am Today

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! This is an upload of a little "story" I started a few years ago, that I'm hoping to revitalize if anyone's interested. If you're enjoying it, please consider writing a letter as response to Aigis in the comments. Thanks!

_Dear Reader,_

I hope this letter finds you well. I found it difficult to figure out your address and was uncertain of how many stamps to put on, so Fuuka is helping me. She's been so kind. Ever since I moved in with her, she's helped with all sorts of problems, like when I had avoided going to one of the Kirijo labs for a check-up and my legs fell off. I tell her that she has learned more about my anatomy than is usual for anyone I know, but for some reason she gets embarrassed by this. I greatly enjoy living with her, and am glad to repay her kindness by letting me stay here whenever I can. Did I ever tell you about the time we got lost in a bad neighbourhood and I jabbed a man with over 250,000 volts of electricity? I was built with that ability in order to incapacitate threats non-lethally, so I did not think it unusual to do so, but Fuuka informed me afterward that it is not normal for someone to lay prone in an alley looking like Junpei when he accidentally cast Agilao on himself. She complained that it would take her weeks to wash out the burning smell on her clothing, but to be extremely frank, she smells like burnt flesh whenever she cooks anyway.

I'm not sure if my last letter managed to reach you, perhaps because I did not send it. Regardless, I have greatly enjoyed university life. It brought me a terrible sadness to leave my friends at the Iwatodai dorm upon graduation, apart from Yukari who was what you might call 'a bitch'. I was also disappointed upon arrival at the university that there was no 'Being Human' course for me to enroll in. I understand that third-level education is where people go to follow their dreams and ambitions and become skilled in a new field. My greatest desire is to accept myself as a human being, but so far I have found it hard, as I understand that most human beings do not have a set of headphones grafted to their head in place of ears. Luckily, Fuuka is currently studying Robotics and is making great strides in her field. She has taken to experimenting with me, but please do not tell anyone. When Junpei called one weekend to ask how life had been going, he found me saying that 'Fuuka and I have been experimenting in college' to be quite alarming. Why? I do not know.

Having an active social life is a vital part of the university experience, I've been informed. On the nights where Fuuka is busy with assignments, I visit the nearest Chagall Cafe and purchase an extremely overpriced cup of coffee that I do not drink. The experience is quite enjoyable, as I feel like I am truly able to blend in and conform with typical social norms. I attempted to visit the ladies' bathroom on one occasion to understand the experience and ran into a woman named Elizabeth, who told me she was 'a dear friend of a dear friend'. Although my Persona capabilities have gone unused for some time, I am still operational, and Elizabeth informed me that it was her responsibility to assist me in that matter whenever possible. It was wonderful making a new friend, especially one I have so much in common with. She has promised to go on a 'date' with me the next time she is free. I understand that is supposed to be a good thing.

As I am writing this to you, Fuuka has been preparing a welcome meal for her new roommate. I am not officially living in this apartment and do not take up much space, lying in bed with Fuuka as she sleeps to ensure she is safe. (She is not yet aware of this.) Her new roommate was delayed in moving in due to personal reasons but should have arrived by the time you receive this letter. Fuuka has warned me to be on my absolute best behaviour, saying that I must 'be as human and normal as possible so as to not scare Shirogane-san'. I do hope nothing goes wrong. I shall tell you what happens as soon as I can.

I believe today will be the best of days, for it is the day where I am today.

_Aigis_


	2. The Wonders of the Internet

Dear Reader,

I've been studying the proper protocols for opening these messages to you. I've learnt that it is vital for a letter to begin by asking about your experiences and inquiring after your health, so I will do so.

I hope that the last few seconds of your life since you began reading my letter have been suitably pleasant for you. Also, I implore you to visit a doctor and have them run any and all tests on you, because if you secretly harboured cancerous cells I would feel great pity for you.

Putting the formalities aside, I have a number of occurrences to share with you. Since I began writing these letters, Fuuka has acquainted me with the Internet, which I can access on the same device in which these words are recorded. It is truly a fascinating place, and I confess that I have become quite attached to it. Fuuka doesn't know this, but recently instead of intently keeping my gaze on her while she sleeps at night to ensure she is still breathing, I have occasionally shunned my duties to look at pictures of cats instead. I am thankful that she still lives despite my irresponsible nature. As I enjoy the Internet too much to simply give it up while Fuuka sleeps, I intend to combine both business and pleasure by recording Fuuka using the video camera on her computer. This allows me to always ensure her safety, and will be educational as I study how a human being sleeps. Do all humans say such things as 'There are two enemies. Be careful!' and 'The enemy is weak to ice!' while sleeping? One night she repeatedly gasped, exclaiming 'The enemy!' for seemingly hours. I cannot help but find it unusual.

One of my favourite features of the Internet is the ability to socialize with people with unusual and highly specific interests. I happened upon a video titled 'A Conspiracy For Murder?! Shocking Secrets The Kirijo Group Don't Want You To Know!' which was an incredibly interesting viewing experience. The video made the connection that the mysterious death of Shuji Ikutsuki, Chairman of Gekkoukan High, was due to his discovery of an alien spaceship when watching the skies in the school's observatory, which led to his assassination by ancient alien cultists who worshipped the moon. It was highly amusing. I sent a message to the video's creator to clarify the issue, writing 'he forgot to crucify the dog LOL'. I feel that will clarify things nicely.

There is of course the matter of our new roommate I promised to share with you. Allow me to set the scene:

Shirogane-san gave us quite a surprise when we met her for the first time. I could not easily deduce her gender from an initial glance – in fact, not only did 'she' look like a 'he', she looked like Him. I forgot myself for a moment, immediately pulling Shirogane-san into an embrace. I couldn't believe that I was seeing Him again, after so long. Fuuka quickly attempted to pull me away.

"A-Ai-chan, that's not how we introduce ourselves to strangers!"

I was about to respond that He was clearly not a stranger, but gazing into Shirogane-san's eyes, I realised I had the wrong person.

"I'm so sorry, Shirogane-san, my human friend Aigis confused you for someone else..."

"Yes, that is true. He is dead, however. So I should have known."

"Th-That's quite alright..." Shirogane-san stumbled on her words. "I have been mistaken for a man before..."

"My name's Fuuka Yamagishi, and this is my friend Aigis. She's really very quirky in a non-robotic human way." Fuuka was blabbering on, guiding Shirogane-san into the kitchen where something indescribable in my knowledge of language sat bubbling slightly on a plate. "I cooked you this, for a little welcome party between us and my human friend who doesn't live here!"

Shirogane-san merely blinked and nodded, speechless, as we sat together at the table. "It's so nice of you to cook this... meal for me, Yamagishi-san..."

"Please, call me Fuuka. It sounds so strange to be referred to in such a formal manner, especially by someone as famous as the Detective Prince!"

"Oh, so you already know of my career, how embarassing..."

"Embarassing? I feel embarrassed to sit here with you! What have I done in life compared to you? You're younger than me, but you've done so much. Compared to you and Ai-chan, I'm completely boring."

Shirogane-san turned to me. "Apologies for not properly introducing myself earlier. I'm Naoto Shirogane. Are you studying in the same university as Fuuka, Aigis-san?"

I quickly looked at Fuuka, who gave me a cross-eyed look of confusion. "No, I-"

"She's a transfer student from abroad and she goes to my university but since she's not speaking her first language sometimes she says things and means something completely different, but you get used to it!" After saying this Fuuka took a long, deep breath, like she was a drowning goldfish. "I actually need to talk to Ai-chan in private for a second, if you don't mind." She pulled me outside.

"Ai-chan, I'm freaking out, I don't know what to do, she probably thinks we're crazy!"

"Please calm down. You're doing fine. She doesn't suspect a thing."

"You mean that?" I nodded. "Thank you, Ai-chan... I just need some time to calm down. You go inside, I'll be back in a minute."

The door closed. Shirogane-san sat at the table, her plate completely clean. The window was open, letting a cool breeze into the kitchen. We both looked at each other as if we had something to hide.

"Fuuka's cooking was so delicious, I just ate the whole thing immediately! I just had to open this window afterwards because it was very spicy and I needed to cool off a little bit." I decided to change the subject.

"Fuuka told me a lot about the famous cases you've solved, Shirogane-san. Did you move here because of work?"

"Oh! Well, it's hard to explain, I can't really just give out this kind of information. I decided to move here more for personal reasons than purely business, but... I suppose there is something I must do here as well." She looked ominously off into the distance, the slight breeze still managing to ruffle her hair. She washed up her plate and left to bring her bags to her room.

Since then, things have been quite normal. Since Fuuka has yet to inform Shirogane-san that I do in fact live in this apartment, the likely course of action is for me to sneak back inside in the middle of the night. I am not yet sure how my living here will change with Shirogane-san, but it is unlikely anything will go wrong. I don't think she realises I am a robot at all.

Until next time,

Aigis.


	3. oh, to be born a train

_Dear Reader,_

I have to open this letter to you with a confession – I am in a heightened state of worry over Fuuka's mental state.

Since Naoto has moved into the apartment, we've had all manner of wacky escapades in ensuring the little-known secret that I'm not quite the 100% ordinary human I have otherwise claimed to be. It really has taken its toll on Fuuka's nerves. She is often awake at night when she would otherwise be safe asleep. Since I've had to leave in the evenings, telling them my goodbyes before sneaking back inside, Naoto has been suspicious of possible break-ins to the apartment and is busy organising all sorts of security cameras and other measures to ensure their own safety.

Fuuka has argued unsuccessfully to the implementation of this security system, telling Naoto that she likes to keep the doors unlocked, if not outright open, at night 'as a symbol of trust in the city and its inhabitants', and when that didn't work, was forced to "confess" that she 'liked the danger and secretly wanted people to break into her room at night' while she slept. That false revelation took Naoto aback, and she did not continue arguing further after that, but it is likely she will attempt to change things again soon. The stress of having to constantly be alert has left Fuuka withdrawn in her work. I can see the flashes of light and sparks flying around her room when I hover outside her window using my legs' rocket propulsion to glide gracefully in the sky, but I don't yet know what she is doing. (She doesn't know I regularly look in to her bedroom window, so I haven't asked when I see her during the day.)

In the hours between me leaving the apartment and me artfully sneaking back in, I wander the city.

It has been so wonderfully quiet lately – the streets are usually empty, and what people I do see wander alone as I do, faces down at the pavement as if deliberately avoiding all human contact. I'm not like that at all – I want to talk to them, but I don't know how.

Thankfully, I have Elizabeth to keep me company on these otherwise lonely nights. She appears at the local Chagall Cafe nightly now, and we spend our idle hours in conversation. Like myself, she is currently at an impasse. She is often busy working very unusual hours – so unusual, in fact, that when I questioned when she works she was unable to respond.

I am not entirely convinced she understands the concept of time.

Whatever mysterious inquiries she involves herself with, progress has been slow. She told me that something very important will happen on the next full moon, two days from now. I am to meet with her outside the cafe at midnight at this time.

I will approach the upcoming full moon with a degree of trepidation, as I cannot help but have a bad feeling about this.

Of course, dear reader, that is only the bad news she told me. It would be inappropriate of me to only inform you of these moments of disquiet, for although they weigh heavily on my mechanical form, they should not be the defining experiences of these past few days. I went on a city-wide excursion with Elizabeth before the more problematic issues were discussed, and had an absolutely 'fabulous' time. The first order of business one fine afternoon was what Elizabeth called 'a thorough examination into the modes of transport available in this city.'

It was at this time we rode on the train.

There was something about this train in particular that I found deeply evocative of human feeling.

The carriage we sat in was mostly empty, with a handful of businessmen in suits reading papers and escaping momentarily their horrifically banal existences in the comfort of their own minds. They seemed disconnected from the heart of the train, from its gliding on the rails, crossing a bridge overlooking the simple neighbourhoods, street corners and newsagents, the elderly out for walks in order to keep their bones from decaying and imploding like they did in an educational medical manga I once read, the stray dogs and cats engaged in games of chess in the city park... they didn't care about the world outside of their own bubble, and that is why they did not love the train as Elizabeth and I did, with all our body and soul.

Even now as I write this to you I am unable to fully describe the emotions I felt with the train, and am thankful that Elizabeth was more eloquent than I and could allow my feelings to be laid bare.

'It is only during moments like these that I can understand why He chose to protect the world.

When He faced Nyx alone, with only the spirits of all of us at his side, cheering him on, praying for his success, I know that He knew what He was fighting for.

For anyone who ever suffered, or felt alone, alienated, guilty for actions they perhaps didn't quite understand.

For anyone who ever held a fervent desire to help others, to be with the people who suffer, to guide those who are lost, to heal the sick, to love the despised, to unite the separated.

But all of those people were mere footnotes to the main body of his desire to protect the world... for He knew one day He would ride on this train.'

I clapped, I cheered, I thought about crying but was unsure if I could. I wanted to become the train, and fulfil a greater purpose than the mere heavily-armed state-of-the-art advanced robotic mechanical maiden built to destroy Shadows that prey on human fears I was. Being a train would be a much more satisfying existence. The happiness of becoming one with the train, along with Elizabeth, now brought me sorrow, because I knew I was incomplete.

After we left the train, we visited a hat shop. I bought a sombrero. It was a good day.

_-Aigis_


	4. Where are all the jobs?

_Dear Reader,_

What is ‘up’? How is ‘it’ hanging? Ahoy-hoy and so on. I believe I have not yet mastered the art of the epistolary opening, and must ask you to be patient. It is important that the opening to a letter reflects, in some small way, the unique personality of the writer, and perhaps the recipient as well. It is difficult for me to write in concord with such dictates, as I do not know your personality at all, reader, and fear I know myself hardly any better.

I spend a lot of time looking in the mirror.

_Who am I?_ I say to it.

_Who am I?_ The mirror says back.

_I believe I asked you first_. I say to the mirror.

_I believe I asked_ you _first_. It responds quite rudely.

_Please do not repeat my words; I am trying to have a civil conversation with you_. I say to the mirror, pleading for decorum. But it just says the same thing back, and I find myself annoyed and turn to violence. Fuuka was very upset when she saw the bathroom mirror peppered with bullet holes, and we had to throw it away before Shirogane-san saw it. I was quite embarrassed by my behaviour, and requested Fuuka that I buy another mirror for her.

“But you don’t have any money, Ai-chan,” Fuuka said, looking puzzled and more than a little crosseyed.

She was right. As I do not need to eat or sleep, there is no need for me to possess currency. I do not know how to feel about this. I wish to become more human in everyday life, that is true. However, the brief period of time I have spent visiting Buddhist and Shinto temples in Tatsumi Port Island had made me understand the dangers of avarice, and that in my present state, I have transcended earthly desires. I am in many ways an enlightened being, but do not fret, gentle reader. It would be unbecoming of my nature to brag about such a feat. Perhaps you would be uninterested in money if you were a biomechanical anti-Shadow weapon also. It just so happens that you are not, and never will be.

Fuuka reassured me she would manage to replace the mirror by herself, but I knew this would not do. It is my responsibility to account for my crime. If I lacked the funds to purchase a new mirror, I would have to get a part-time job. The thought of this pleased me. Employment is a vital aspect of human existence, after all. Many people seem to enjoy their work more than they do spending time with their friends or family, so the possibility that I might enjoy something so much was exhilarating. I left for the city at once to begin the ‘job-hunt’.

At first, things were difficult. Jobs are not like Shadows. They don’t squirm around in muddles of black goo feeding on the unconscious fears of humanity. Or maybe they do so more discretely than Shadows do; I’m not sure. I walked the city streets for hours on high alert for the appearance of a job, but none answered my challenge. Perhaps there are certain perquisites one needs to have in order for a job to be summoned. I mulled over that thought for a while, then decided to consult Elizabeth, who I encountered once more at the local Chagall Café.

She was happy to see me, and immediately reminded me that I was to meet her outside the café at midnight tomorrow, on the coming of a full moon. I assured her I had not forgotten. (I had.) Her curious outfit appeared to be a uniform of sorts, but I did not know what is was she actually did as a job. I had asked her before about her working hours, and she could not respond. Today, when I asked her what it was she did, she could not explain it either.

I told her about my difficulty finding gainful employment, and she was touched by my struggle, though she could offer no specific advice. She never had to apply for the job she has, as it was something unique to her abilities. She suggested I might try to find a job that matches with my skillset also. This will prove difficult; I wasn’t being paid for my role as an anti-Shadow weapon back when I worked with S.E.E.S at the Iwatodai Dorm. It seems I did not know my rights. With Tartarus gone, it is unlikely that I will get to fight any more Shadows in the near future, so I cannot hope to find a job in that field. I told Elizabeth my anxieties relating to this. She was silent for a long time, lost in thought.

‘...I think I can help you in your quest, Aigis, if you help me in mine. Everything coalesces; at the coming of the full moon, you will find your answer, as I shall find mine. Won’t it be wonderful?’ Elizabeth then proceeded to lift herself onto the table at which we were sitting and jump up and down, cheering. She seemed happy. I was concerned we might be thrown out of the café, as Fuuka has regularly reminded me the importance of not making ‘a scene’ in public, but such social obligations did not apply to Elizabeth. She jumped, clapped and cheered; I found her enthusiasm infectious, and began to clap too. Being with her is almost as wonderful as being on a train. We renewed our friendship pledge over karaoke that night, singing “Don’t Stop Me Now” by the band Queen, a song appropriate to our pledge that neither of us wanted to be stopped. It was a lot of fun — I was worried at first that I would not be a very good singer, but was reassured by Elizabeth not being a good singer either.

The night lit and faded like the sparking of a match, and I had to covertly return to Fuuka’s side, using the lockpicking skills I honed breaking into His room. I know that Fuuka does not mind that I have to break into the apartment, just as I am sure she does not mind that I watch her sleep (though she doesn’t know that), but I am concerned about Shirogane-san. I am not so sure they would be okay with things, and they are perceptive enough I may not be able to hide the truth from them.

Fuuka is snoring softly in bed beside me as I write this. I watch her and smile, remembering that nothing lasts forever. Except maybe me. I’m not certain if I am immortal or not. Anyway, the adage still applies. If circumstances drive Fuuka and myself apart, I shall have to keep the memory of our time together close to my heart. That is not where my memory banks are stored, but to become more human, I must imagine it so. I will stop writing now, so I can devote the hours before dawn hits fully to committing Fuuka’s sleeping face to memory. I feel a little sad, but in a way that is happy also. I don’t know if there are words for it. I hope I get to use them someday.

— _Aigis_


	5. Dancing in Moonlight

_Dear Reader_ ,

Greetings. It’s your Aigis here. Everybody in the house say ‘what?’

...

I can’t hear you, but I imagine you said ‘what?’ just now, which I appreciate. I am trying to build rapport with you, reader. It is very important to me that we are friends. The power of friendship is incredible. I wonder... if I keep writing to you and you remain a kindred spirit to my words and feelings, will the power of our friendship will transcend time and space? When I call on you in a time of need, will you answer? I would do it for you, so why don’t you do it for me? Leap through the screen holding these words now, and appear before me!

It didn’t work?

Oh.

Maybe it’s too soon in our friendship for our bond to defy the natural laws of the universe. That is unfortunate. It worked for someone I know. It seems you are not him. I suppose that is not entirely your fault.

I have a lot to share with you in today’s letter, so much so that I am unsure how to begin. I suppose it is best to take these things chronologically, though if I chose to tell you the Dark Hour is back now and then didn’t explain anything until I found that out myself at midnight with Elizabeth, the pacing of my letter would be much more intriguing and mysterious. However, I’ve decided not to do that. I will tell you about my morning. I left you last watching Fuuka sleep, a simple pleasure of mine. She woke up at 7:30 when her alarm went off. I had known this would happen, knowing Fuuka’s morning schedule, and moved into a corner of the room, facing the wall.

Part of the reason Fuuka was okay with me staying in her room without paying rent or anything was that I told her I could imitate rest by entering a low-power mode, so there would be nothing invasive in my sharing space with her. I’ll admit to you, reader, that this was a lie. I have no operational capacity for a “low-power mode”. I can only function in full power or in Orgia Mode. The recovery status I enter into after activating Orgia Mode cannot be wilfully accessed by my consciousness, the same way you cannot consciously decide to sleep and execute your rest like a command function. Despite being an unrelenting harbinger of mass destruction, I am really just like you.

Fuuka yawned, getting out of bed to shut off her alarm.

“Good morning, Ai-chan. Are you awake?’

I turned to her, but slowly, mimicking the stiffness of joints people seem to have when rising from their slumber. “Yes, Fuuka. Good morning.”

 She opened her curtains, letting in a warm morning glow of sunlight. It was a beautiful, brand new day.

“You’d better leave through here,” Fuuka said. I nodded. Shirogane didn’t know I was in the apartment, after all. I couldn’t come back to the apartment until the afternoon if I wanted to speak to Fuuka there. So I leapt through the window then and there, counting on the jet propulsors embedded in my feet to kick in before I hit the ground. It doesn’t really matter if I do or not, considering how durable I am, but Fuuka saw me faceplant the first time I made my dynamic exit and asked me not to do so again, saying that it looked like ‘a disturbingly casual rendition of a suicide’. I suppose she would know.

I wasn’t used to being out of the apartment this early, as Shirogane has only just moved in, and I’ve never needed to leave so soon. The morning air was brisk and pleasant, suggestive of the infinite possibilities a day can bring. I got bored pretty fast.

You know, reader, I’ve just realised I’ve never told you what city I’m living in. No wonder, then, that I send these letters to you and receive no reply. Part of me is still in Iwatodai, and I view this place simply as ‘the new city’. This city is much larger. It is called Tokyo, if you are familiar with it. It does not yet feel like home. Some things are not so different; I still use trains as a regular source of public transport. The trains here are usually much more crowded, but that does not affect my fierce enjoyment of the experience. The Chagall Café near the apartment is identical to the one in the Paulownia Mall. It’s a busy city, but Iwatodai didn’t seem quiet when I was there. I suppose I just struggle to fill my days because I no longer go to school, and don’t have to worry about fighting Shadows.

Tokyo is filled with millions of fascinating human beings, each with their own individual vibrancy, uniqueness, that I want to grasp for myself. And yet some days I feel no fondness for anything at all. There are so many strangers it is difficult to imagine, to understand, the remarkable stories everyone I pass could tell. There is so much to look for in this city that sometimes I don’t know what to do. Those were the kinds of thoughts I had while I spent the morning hours idly roaming the streets.

Do not fret, reader. It is not in my interest to tell you about the occasionally mundane realities of my experience. I would not want to read about them myself. It is boring to read about someone being bored.  Next time, I will simply lie to you.

A hobby of mine is a search for empty space. The city is busy and crowded, so there isn’t much of it. I live among humans and want them to accept me as human, so maybe I shouldn’t complain, but occasionally I feel the urge to act in manners humans seemingly cannot abide by. It was much simpler in Tartarus. Nobody thought the way I ran down the corridors of that hell-palace strange. I cannot act on such harmless urges in Tokyo. Fuuka once watched me run down the street to greet her after her classes, and a trashcan lay in my path. In my haste, I knocked it skyward, several thousand feet into the air, until it was nothing but a dot in the skyline above. She became somewhat afraid the same thing could happen if I were to run down a busy street and into a passerby.

The order was given: no running. I understand her trepidation, but wonder if it not dissimilar to asking a bird not to fly. Unbeknownst to her, I search for empty spaces, safe avenues to fulfil myself. So if you see Fuuka around anytime, reader, don’t tell her a thing or I’ll come after you and burn your house down. That is not a threat, but a promise. Threats are bad and promises are good, so there is no need to be alarmed, reader.

The search occupied me nicely. Purpose is palliative against time. Swiftly, I moved from one objective to the next: meeting Elizabeth before the full moon. She was waiting for me at our designated meeting place, outside Chagall Café.

The clock struck twelve. Twelve, and then thirteen. The sky turned an acrid green and the moon above me lingered, huge and ominous. There was a familiar scent to the air, a coolness of temperature. The Dark Hour.

Initially, I was somewhat alarmed.

“WHAT’S GOING ON? DID YOU DO THIS? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?!” I asked Elizabeth, trying to keep calm, my hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake to assist with information-gathering.

She was unfazed, that all-knowing and unknowable smile affixed on her face. “It’s back, baby.’ She leaned in close, whispering. “But not as you remember it.”

The moon darkened above us. I heard writhing and shrieking as a black mass congealed, solidified and dropped onto the street in front of us. A Shadow...but this one was indeed different. A figure coated in black pus, the formation of the collective unconscious...it assumed my shape. It remained faceless, being only an outline of my body, and stood still, waiting for something. This was Elizabeth’s cue. Breaking free from my grip as if I never really held her in the first place, Elizabeth hoisted a large blue boombox that had appeared from nowhere onto her shoulder.

“It’s time, Aigis. Dance!”

It is difficult to summarily describe what follows. I cannot explain it myself. Music began to play from Elizabeth’s boombox, and indeed, I began to dance. I did not know how to dance. Or, more accurately, I did not know _that I knew_ how to dance. For dance I did, and quite gracefully, if I say so myself. My body moved to the beat in rhythms entirely unconsciously followed, yet consciously enjoyed. It was a wonderful experience. At the climax of the song, I felt a power I hadn’t needed in a long time.

_Athena_.

My Persona appeared before me, and in an instant, Athena cut the Shadow in twain. [That is another way of saying ‘two’ that sounds appropriate in the context of cutting something.] The danger had passed. The Dark Hour dissipated as quickly as it’d arrived. I didn’t know how to react to what’d happened, but I knew Elizabeth knew more than I did.

“Aigis! You danced magnificently. It made me so happy to see! Just like old times...”

“I do not remember knowing how to dance, but it came so naturally. What just happened?”

“Of course—you’ve forgotten. I forgot that you’d forgotten. It’s a good thing you did not forget to remind me that I’d forgot that you’d forgotten! Back when you explored Tartarus with your friends, I summoned all of you into a dream and taught you the remarkable power of dancing.”

“...why?”

“Why? Because! Because...” She put a finger to her chin, stroking it in thought. It was best not to press her on these things.

“Why is the Dark Hour back now? And how did I defeat the Shadow by dancing?”

“It’s not back—not really. I made some arrangements, called in a few favours, and got you a very special treat. Every full moon—for one night only!—Shadows will return and you’ll have the chance to dance again! They’ll only come for you, Aigis. You seemed so sad, so I thought—this’ll help!”

And that, reader, is all I know. It would be rude of me to reject Elizabeth’s gift, but I do not know what to make of it yet. Dancing was a lot of fun, though. Does dancing clash with my objective to lead a human life? I felt a kind of euphoria upon destroying that Shadow that seemed altogether primitive. The joy of a machine, and not a person. But the joy was my own all the same. This is indeed a puzzle. Whatever happens, I hope you can continue to cheer me on.

_Aigis_


	6. Being a detective is actually pretty easy

_Dear Reader,_

[insert generic greeting here]

Ha-ha-ha. That was a joke. I would never begin a letter to you with anything other than a genuine expression of feeling. My thoughts committed to text are not the extracted process of computer code, despite how they may appear on your screen.

‘But Aigis,’ you may ask, ‘aren’t you a robot? Surely your thoughts are the result of some sort of complex machine process, and therefore are no more different than the boilerplate greeting template inscribed above?’

To you, reader and responder, I say, shut up. Stop talking. Don’t talk to me. That was really mean. Don’t try to contact me ever again.

I accidentally made myself a little sad. Do you? I mean, do you ever do that? Please give me advice as how to not do that. This business with feeling is not a simple one.

I have a tale to tell, reader, so tell it I shall and dispense with the preamble post-haste. (This is a phrase I heard Elizabeth say once, that I have decided to steal.)

I met Naoto today.

Wait, no. I met Shirogane-san today. I have been referring to them as ‘Shirogane-san’ in my letters until now, so if I were to suddenly call them ‘Naoto’ it would be an example of code-switching that implies our relationship has rapidly changed. This would kill the suspense inherent in my telling a story, and lose my reader’s interest. I should not have begun the story that way. Please forget that I did.

I was in Inokashira Park, looking at a tree. There are lots of trees in Inokashira Park. I didn’t feel the need to do a survey, but I would estimate there are nineteen thousand, four hundred and sixty five. (There is a margin of error of .2% from my generated estimates.) I was looking at one tree, which I considered giving a name, but decided against doing so, for names are typically given to humans and animals, intended to differentiate or describe that human or animal in some way, and I could not conceive of a name to adequately describe a tree. Hence my concern.

The poet Ezra Pound gave a writing exercise to prospective students of the craft, that they would write a description of a tree without mentioning the name of the tree (larch, pine, etc.) so that the reader will not mistake it for the description of any other tree. I wanted to observe a tree with a similar poetic intensity, so that I may learn something about the act of observation itself, and perhaps apply it to human beings. And maybe even myself.

I was looking at a tree. I looked at it for two hours, four minutes and nineteen seconds.

The tree’s leaves were green.

Beyond that, I could think of nothing.

This troubled me, but I tried to stay positive. One cannot hope to succeed at something on the first try without an inflated sense of self-worth. I did not eliminate every Shadow I encountered with a single bullet, or grenade, or missile. It took time. Hard work. Teamwork...

I decided to take a stroll around the park while I thought about the tree. After a short distance walking, I found the path before me blocked by yellow police tape. DO NOT CROSS. Sound advice, I thought, as I ducked beneath the tape and moved on to see what all the fuss was about. Shirogane was talking to a policeman, standing by a curious human shape etched in chalk on the ground. She turned, hearing my approach, and was alarmed.

“Aigis-san? What are you doing here? I’m sorry, but I must escort you off the site immediately. Important police business.”

I took another glance at the chalk mural. There were three miniscule drops of human blood that lingered on the soil inside the shape.

“Someone has been killed here. Is that what you are investigating, Shirogane-san?”

Again, she was startled, nervously messing with the brim of her hat. “That...that is correct. You’re quite astute. However, I must still ask you to move outside the site. Inokashira Park’s exits have been temporarily cordoned off for the time being, so you will not be able to leave, but I cannot let you stay in this area at present.”

I nodded, comprehending. “I comprehend. The murderer is still within the boundaries of the park, or so police believe. Do you believe that also?”

“I...I’m uncertain if that’s the case, but I still need to comply with the investigation. Wait, why am I telling you this?” Shirogane was losing her initial confident stance. It was unclear if she could move me from where I was standing. I was glad we were getting the opportunity to talk.

“I believe I can assist you, Shirogane-san.” I closed my eyes, visualising the park in accordance with map data I have saved on the area.

“Has the police department investigated the possibility of the culprit escaping by air?”

“By air? What do you mean?”

“I noticed that the chalk shape of the body you found is unusual. For a body to lie twisted in that position, it must haf been mangled in accordance with the breaking of bones incurred from a fall of considerable distance. The only way someone could receive such injuries in this park could be if they fell from the sky – there are no hills in the park area one could drop from to land that way.” I looked up at the clear blue Tokyo skyline.

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it, Shirogane-san?”

She looked toward the sky alongside me, though not without glancing quizzically at me first. “It’s... pleasant enough, I suppose. Everything seems peaceful.”

“No airplanes have flown by here for several hours. The skyline is unblemished. The only reasonable conclusion is that the killer must’ve dropped the corpse of their victim from a hang glider.”

Shirogane’s eyes lit up. “Of course! That’s why no-one we questioned saw our victim in the park alive...they weren’t here...then...” She dropped into the furious silence of deep thought. It was fascinating to observe her furrowed brow. She lost any awareness of herself, as if her mind had somehow breached the boundaries of her body, left it for a moment to more clearly access the domain of Thought. It was something transcendental, yet quietly so. Unlike anything I’d seen before, and yet there was nothing unusual about it; nothing out of the ordinary. Then Shirogane smiled.

“Shinzo Kakizaki. The victim’s brother-in-law runs a company that offers hang-gliding tours of the city. He used his experience with the aircraft to stage a crime scene in the park, when he could’ve killed them anywhere before that...The police needs to investigate his company building immediately.” She turned, about to race off to the policemen in the area, before remembering my presence.

“Aigis-san, I don’t know how you managed to come to your conclusions with such ease of logic, but I can’t thank you enough. You’ve aided the investigation significantly. I can’t talk now, but please come visit myself and Fuuka at our apartment this evening. With your help, we may just have caught a murderer.”

With those words, she ran off, to fight crime in the name of justice everywhere. A soft feeling emanated from my chest, enveloping me in a cosy warm glow of happiness. And then I heard a strange voice come from nowhere.

_Thou art I, and I am thou..._

_Thou hast acquired a new bond._

_It shall become the key that unlocks new varieties of human experience._

_With the power of the Fortune Persona, thou shalt open a new door._

Though it was unexpected, the voice comforted me. I smiled watching Naoto go. We’d shared something, made a connection, and now I knew our friendship would blossom and bloom significantly.


	7. actually a little frightened right now

_Dear Reader,_

Hey now, all-star. I heard two young men greet each other this way in Shinjuku, before making a series of elaborate and complex gestures of friendship with their hands. Sadly, through this medium, I cannot set up a ‘secret shake’ with you, reader, but a girl can dream. And by a girl, I mean me. And yes, that is not just the metaphorical usage of the word ‘dream’ meaning ‘to hope’ or ‘imagine’. I am capable of having dreams. Why wouldn’t I be? Because I don’t need to sleep? I don’t see how that’s relevant.

Apologies, reader. I would hate to begin today’s correspondence with an argument. However, I must advise you not to provoke me again.

In my last letter, I told you I’d been invited to Naoto’s apartment after casual assistance with a murder mystery. This was a very fortuitious situation – you can imagine it is much more convenient to secretly live in someone’s home if they have invited you in, first. Naoto expects me to come for the evening, but she doesn’t realise I will be here forever. Like Dracula. I think that’s how that story goes. I haven’t read that book. Nor any book, really. Data processing through the medium of printed text is too inefficient for my capabilities – it would be much simpler for me to simply download Wikipedia or Project Gutenberg. Though I suppose there may be something quaint in reading like a human. Reader, remind me—to read a book. Also, perhaps tell me what book I should read first.

For my infiltration of the Yamagishi / Shirogane household to be successful, I had to approach this evening’s visit as anyone else would. My knowledge of etiquette tells me guests in such a scenario bring along a gift to the dwellers within, do they not? So I set myself the task of finding an appropriate gift, quite an intriguing challenge for one such as myself, having no money.

I conjured up a mental picture of Naoto as I tried to decide upon an appropriate gift for her. By far the most interesting thing about her was her uncanny resemblance to him, but I have heard it is inappropriate to tell a lady of her physical similarities to a man. Naoto wears hats, I thought. Good for her. Elizabeth wears hats too. Curiouser and curiouser. I am open minded. People should be able to wear hats, if they wish. I haven’t worn my sombrero in a few days. Perhaps she would want a new hat? Or perhaps I should buy Fuuka a hat, so that when Naoto is wearing her hat and I am wearing my hat, Fuuka does not think of herself as a black sheep. Or even as a white sheep. Fuuka should think of herself as a person.

Is wearing a hat the key to human self-perception? I walked into a large fashionable clothing store in Shibuya, to investigate the latest hat fashions. What was the name of Naoto’s style of headgear? A newsboy cap. Perhaps she wore it because she was interested in current events. What sort of hat would suit Fuuka’s character? The sombrero for myself seemed self-evident. A hot pink fedora caught my eye, but there was something unseemly about it. Choosing to buy a hat for someone is a very personal thing. There are risks involved, and to get it wrong could cost the entire friendship. The fedora resembled that ruinous omen. I felt quieted to my core. But if I could not buy Fuuka a hat, what could I do? Just then, I was distracted by a familiar voice:

“Look behind you.”

Due to my mechanics, my head can rotate a full 360 degrees to ensure no-one can sneak up on me, but after Fuuka saw me do that once, she begged me never to do it again in public, as it’s quite unsettling. My instinct to rapidly turn my head had to be repelled, and I did my best to turn my body around the proper human way. But there was no-one behind me, until I turned again. Elizabeth was standing in front of me.

“Surprise! Tricked you. Come with me, Aigis.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me into a changing room. It was strange that she was able to do this. My programming allows me to radically alter my mass to a maximum capacity of twelve tons, as defence against blunt force or to ensure I am undamaged if, for example, I am hit by a car or a tank. The surprise of seeing Elizabeth had fixed me solidly in place as defence protocol, but she was able to effortlessly pull me along with her as though I were an unruly child. Elizabeth is a very friendly person, but her casual displays of power are really quite frightening.

Elizabeth pushed me against the cubicle wall, shutting the curtain behind us. She leaned in close.

“Aigis...how are you?” She smiled.

“Very well, and yourself?”

“I’m wonderful, thank you for asking!” Elizabeth hadn’t let go of me at this point. She stared into my eyes as if waiting for me to say something, then blinked; remembering it was her that was supposed to speak.

“I forgot to tell you about the power of Social Links developing inside you since the last full moon. These Social Links will help you in your journey, Aigis. You have to make friends, Aigis. Friends are your power, see? And I will help you. We’re going to be friends, Aigis. Well, we’re already friends, aren’t we Aigis? But now we’re going to be super special magic friends, Aigis. Do you hear me, Aigis? Are you excited?” Elizabeth spoke ceaselessly, leaning towards me until I could feel her breath on my face. Then I heard the strange voice again.

_Thou art I, and I am thou..._

_Thou hast acquired a new bond._

_It shall become the key that unlocks new varieties of human experience._

_With the power of the Fool Persona, thou shalt open a new door._

Elizabeth pushed back, clapping with glee. “The link was forged!” Then, in deadpan monotone. “The contract is sealed.”

And she vanished into thin air.

After a moment, I left the changing room and picked up a bouquet of flowers to bring back to Fuuka and Naoto. Everyone likes flowers. That’s non-controversial.

I told you I have dreams, reader. I can’t but shake the feeling that the events of today may bring about a nightmare.


	8. can't think of titles all the time

_Dear Reader,_

Hola. Soy Aigis. ¿Cómo está usted?

I’m sorry; you may be worried that you have forgotten how to read. It would be a great inconvenience for me, writing these letters, if there was no-one able to read them. It’s not your fault, reader. That greeting was in Spanish, a different language than you are used to. I was not familiar with it myself until yesterday evening with Fuuka and Naoto. The subject of Spanish came into conversation, spurred by my arriving at Fuuka and Naoto’s (and my) apartment, bearing my gift and wearing my sombrero. I adopted my most charming smile for the occasion, and yet the two women were still somewhat nonplussed by my appearance.

“Why are you wearing that hat?” Naoto asked.

“Why are _you_ wearing _that_ hat?” I replied.

Naoto squinted at me, but I didn’t squint back because I don’t really know how to. Squint. That’s a funny word. It doesn’t really sound like what it is. But what is _that?_

She nodded. “Good point.”

I let myself in, immediately sprawling onto the couch in our living room. It was part of my routine with Fuuka that, whenever I returned to the apartment feeling anyway unusual or ‘under the weather’ (a humourous idiom, as one is always under the weather as long as one exists beneath the atmosphere), I would sprawl onto the couch and await bodily inspection from Fuuka. Sometimes we would spend hours together analysing every aspect of my anatomy. I feel bad that I cannot do for her what she does to me, but Fuuka tells me she doesn’t mind. She enjoys it herself.

I assumed the position on the couch not expecting for Fuuka to drop everything and come to me, but for certain ulterior motives I am, perhaps, embarrassed to admit. I have tried to be cavalier regarding Naoto’s arrival in the apartment, but it is upsetting to me to have to pretend that I don’t live with someone when I do. It is not that I wish to deceive Naoto – I want to be friends with her. But how can that friendship develop in such deceit? A flower cannot grow earthed in a soil of lies. I think Elizabeth said that when she asked me for money for a coffee in Chagall Café and I said I didn’t have any.

I was doing what is called ‘sending a message’. My subtle gesture would be indecipherable to Naoto, but have a much more profound meaning for Fuuka.

_Look at me_ , it said. _Remember all the fun times we used to have on this couch? We can’t anymore, because_ someone _decided to have a “roommate” so they could afford “rent”. Look at what you’re missing Fuuka. You bitch. Look at what you’re missing._

All that was communicated by my position on the couch, even though I was lying face-down and could not observe Fuuka’s reaction closely.

“Ai...Ai-chan...are you okay? You must have...tripped, Let me help you up!” Fuuka leaned in as she pulled me to my feet. “What are you doing?”

“Following my heart,” I said, strong and resolute. Fuuka was so shaken by the strength of my words, she struggled to respond at all. “Shirogane-san, why don’t you sit beside Aigis on the couch and chat for awhile? Dinner won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”

“Oh...dinner...I see. I thought I might be cooking tonight.”

“Nonsense, I’ve already started! Hope you like—” Fuuka paused, examining the contents of a huge crockpot in the kitchen. “—Lobster...stew, I think. There’s definitely a crustacean...element.”

“That sounds...intriguing, Fuuka.” Naoto said. She sat beside me now, and searched my eyes fearfully. We spoke in low voices to keep Fuuka out of earshot.

“Y-you’re not going to eat that, are you, Aigis? I feel faint just thinking about it...”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh. But Fuuka’s cooking for you, isn’t she?”

“No, it’s only for you. Fuuka knows that whenever I’m around her as she is cooking, I’m not hungry. It’s a golden rule.”

“I see...then this fight is mine alone.” Naoto gazed into the kitchen as though she gazed into the void. I silently hoped her struggle would be a virtuous one.

“You can worry about that later. Did you catch that killer you were talking about today?”

“Shinzo Kakizaki...we got him alright. He didn’t expect to be caught; the police got him unaware. He confessed to everything. The Chief is going to buy free beers for every officer that took part in the investigation the next time the force has a party.” Naoto didn’t sound too happy about that. She was pulling her cap beneath her eyes, averting mine.

“Isn’t that a good thing, Naoto? You get part of that reward as well.” _As should I_ , I thought to myself, but voiced no such remark. I can’t get drunk, so there’s no point to my drinking beer. At least, I don’t _think_ I can get drunk...

“Yeah, it’s my right as much as anyone’s, but...I’ll definitely be going to the next staff party; even if I didn’t want to go, the Chief’d notice my absence, and there’d be trouble. I’m not much of a drinker compared to those guys...I’m worried about embarrassing myself. No, not worried. I’m convinced I’ll embarrass myself. It’s a guarantee.”

“I see...but surely you don’t have to go over your limits if you don’t want to. It won’t be awkward for the Chief if you only drink one or two beers, right? As long as you’re taking part. You can still stay in control.”

“Well, yeah, except—” Naoto’s voice dropped to a mortified whisper. “I’ve never actually taken any alcohol before. I’m scared of it. I just _know_ that if I take one sip, I’ll become some... some gibbering drunk, and then I’ll never hear the end of it!”

Gibbering drunk? It sounded like Naoto was putting words to a very specific, painful memory.

“You shouldn’t be afraid, Naoto. You won’t get drunk from one beer.”

“You’re wrong there, Aigis. I was at a nightclub once, with some friends—well, they weren’t friends then, but they became friends—and had to spend the evening hostage to their boorish whims and revelry. They weren’t even drinking. The environment was all it took for them to lose the run of themselves. If it could happen to them, it’ll happen to me.” Naoto shuddered on her words.

I found her plight somewhat amusing, I must admit. The prospect of tracking down and arresting hardened criminals and murderers was simply her day job, but once the possibility of socialising with her colleagues came up, she was overcome with anxiety. Among the vast spectrum of human feeling and sentiment I expose myself to, Naoto’s shame was not something I’d consciously experienced myself. Conversation with her was a scholarly endeavour on behalf of humankind. Maybe I would be more anxious if I _could_ get drunk among friends, but even if that were possible, I don’t think it would bother me. It was exciting, just sitting there, knowing we were different people. I did not need to suffer her trials absolutely for me to understand, to help in some way. I need not be everyone to be someone.

I thought about all this, then heard another voice whisper ‘ _rank up_ ’ to me, which I ignored. It didn’t seem relevant. Fuuka called us in. A lot happened today, so forgive me if I split this letter in twain, like Shinjiro once split a shadow’s head in twain with his axe. I shall tell you the rest of the story soon.


	9. rip naoto-kun

_Dear Reader,_

I have freedom, don’t I? Man is born free, as they say. I’m not a man but I think the phrasing is close enough. Human has man in it. If I have freedom, and can do as I will, then I can open this letter as I wish, too, right? Not necessarily with a greeting. Perhaps even with a ‘Goodbye.’ It is entirely in accordance with my own will. And yet the thought of it, of the possibilities inherent in everything I do, frightens me. So I’ll say hello instead of goodbye as my letter to you begins. That must be why it is customary; the freedom to do anything can be too much sometimes, so people tend to do the same things, behave in accordance with unspoken rules. Life is strange.

The topic of greetings aside, you must be waiting with bad breath for the conclusion to the story I began regarding my “visit” to Fuuka and Naoto’s apartment. You should really brush your teeth. Do so, then come back and read.

Are you back? Did you brush your teeth? Good. What about listerine, did you use that? There’s a bottle of the purple stuff in the bathroom. I haven’t used it but I think it looks very quaint. A mystic liquid. An elixir of uncertain purpose. Its purple is luminous, a soft glow emanating from a plastic bottle, sitting unceremonious on a shelf. It makes your breath smell good, apparently. I can’t use it. I’m not sure I actually can breathe.

We were sitting at the dining table. By ‘we’, I mean Fuuka and Naoto and I. By ‘sitting’, I mean that I was sitting, and Fuuka was standing by the oven and the kitchen counter to unknown purpose, and Naoto was standing by the door, eyes darting about, not sure what to do with her hands. By ‘the dining table’, I mean ‘the table’, for there was only one table in the apartment, and although in this instance it was being used to dine, on other occasions Fuuka sat here furiously typing a college assignment up on her laptop into the early hours of the night. It was simpler to set the scene as I did without these additional details and it suggested a kind of gentle friendly relationship between us that, at the time, did not exist.

Things were tense. Naoto was stressed, caught up in the anxieties regarding her impending work night out, as well as the unfolding reality of Fuuka’s cooking situated before her. The future was bleak, the present was bleak, and the past had no remorse. I was feeling anxious too. Tonight would be the night in which I would tell Naoto I was living here. She had to accept that. She had to accept me. I did not wish to live a lie, nor deceive a new friend. This living situation was only the first of my problems, for Elizabeth’s voice echoed through me, reminding me of the next full moon, and what strange event would coincide with it. Of course, I wasn’t as anxious as Naoto was. No matter what I did, it wasn’t as though the world would end. I think.

Was Fuuka caught up in her own concerns? Surely she was. The struggles of her own story. While Naoto, from our brief acquaintance, was in some regard an open book, her fear visible on her face, I often found Fuuka impenetrable, quietly being the biggest mystery of all. There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face. How terrifying it is to accept the daily truth that we do not understand even remotely those to which we claim the highest affection.

With a heavy _TUNK_ Fuuka dropped the crockpot in the middle of the dining table, smiling with magnanimity. “Dinner is served!” She took three ceramic bowls from the press and laid them neatly in a line before Naoto’s seat.

“Sit down, Naoto,” Fuuka said.

“I, uh, I’m fine, actually.”

Fuuka blinked. “You don’t want to sit down and eat?”

“No, no, I’m okay. I’m fine just, uh, just standing here.” Naoto pulled her cap over her brow, to hide the beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

There was a long silence. Neither Naoto nor Fuuka knew what to do or say next. I, knowing rightly when to be silent, watched the scene unfold cinematically.

“If you’re hungry, you’ll want to sit down and eat. Wouldn’t you feel comfortable doing that, sitting down and talking with us?”

“That’s okay. I can talk here, beside the door. I don’t have to sit down.”

“...Is everything alright, Naoto?”

“Everything’s alright. Yep. It’s all good. Everything’s _fine and dandy_.” Naoto’s voice took an odd, croaking intonation on her final words. They seemed to cause pain and regret before she’d even finished saying them, and yet said they were.

“Okay...well, if you don’t want to sit down, let me just give you a bowl of your dinner.”

“What _is_ this evening’s meal, Fuuka?” I interjected.

Fuuka didn’t seem to like being asked that question. “That’s...um...part of the surprise! It started out as a...lobster stew thing, but ended up somewhere...else. It’s still, um, it’s still a nautical dish. I’m sure it’s full of nutrients!”

Silently, Naoto took a step toward the table, leaning in to examine the crockpot’s contents. Her fear now was shrouded behind an impassive gaze. Into the void it went. I dared not look inside myself, but watched, transfixed, Naoto do so. Her body was totally still; the sight of the depths took her breath away. Slowly, her eyes too seemed to lose something. A part of her soul had vanished forever. And at what cost? 

“It looks delicious,” Naoto said. “I’ll have some.”

She didn’t sound like herself. (Another writer may use a turn of phrase here to describe her as sounding ‘robotic’, but I would not do so, as I find that deeply offensive.) She sat at the table, poured herself some void goo, and took a spoonful to her lips, as Fuuka watched on, beaming. Naoto swallowed the substance without incident, and the three of us now sat together sharing in the meal, although it was a meal only Naoto grappled with. For a time, the evening seemed peaceful. If one lived blithe and ignorant as Fuuka was at that moment, one might frame the scene as that of a harmonious meal between friends. Fuuka and I chatted away about our days, her telling me about a quaint feline video she saw online, me telling her about the murder I helped Naoto solve. She was very impressed by that, and asked Naoto for more details, but got none. Naoto’s speech function had disappeared entirely, and she could only blandly nod in response to comments pointed in her direction.

I don’t think she ever blinked.

With Naoto incapacitated, and Fuuka unaware of her culpability in Naoto’s mental state, it was time to tell the truth about my living situation.

Naoto received the news very well, it must be said. When she comes back to the waking world, I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to officially live with me.

Assuming that she does.

It’s been three days.


	10. woah

_Dear Reader,_

It has been some time since last we spoke. Perhaps you’ve grown somewhat nervous. Not merely because of the distance between communications, which is inevitable, since we live busy lives—me in Tokyo, trying to get by, assailed by strange phenomena foisted upon me by a demihuman elevator attendant that, at present, are problematised and solved through dance—and you, living in the Internet, zipping through electronic cables and buzzing through the air, permeated with wi-fi, radiating onto screens with your comments. I am correct in assessing your situation, am I not, Reader? Being online is a tremendous strain on one’s most natural resource: time. I appreciate your time spent with me, but understand too that on occasion you are unavailable, too caught up in the feedback loop of clicks and clacks and

all of a sudden you’ve been watching a two hour video in which someone is criticising another critic for making a bad video about a film you haven’t seen, and

you absolutely. cannot. look away.

I know how it is. I am sympathetic. There but for the grace of God, go I, as they say. (You must remind me to write something about that quote, I find it fascinating and peculiar.)  But it wouldn’t hurt to say ‘hello’ once in a while. Hello, Aigis. How are you. There doesn’t even need to be a question mark at the end of that statement, I’ll allow that much. Still: talk to me. Let me hear your voice, by which I mean the words you type.

_MisfitKitten_ read my last letter with a wry comment on Fuuka’s cooking – “Even with time, your cooking hasn’t gotten any better.” Perhaps ‘wry’ is the wrong emotion I sense within it. Perhaps _MisfitKitten_ is despairing. After all, _ThanosofTitan_ finds my concluding note on Naoto’s state “kind of ominous”. And _Sammy_ is most direct: “Poor naoto someone help her”, they cry. They qualify this: “It’s especially concerning that she’s been unresponsive for three days”, and end with another plea: “Please help her”. Well, _Sammy_ , thank you for sharing your empathy. At this point in proceedings, I would tell you Naoto is fine. If I believed that was true, I would do so.

After three days Naoto rose again. (She wasn’t dead or anything, it’s a figure of speech.) The light had returned to her beautiful glimmering eyes, and dawn broke over the darkness of the apartment. Fuuka and I had been quite worried about Naoto’s well-being, though it was I suffered most. Naoto was still breathing during those three dark days, but she was hermetic, completely silent, closed-off as though she existed on a separate plane from the rest of us. I was concerned that this was literally true: that the Naoto before us was naught but a convincing spectre – a spirit haunting us, its existence asking _Why? Why did you do this to me?_

I said I suffered more than Fuuka because I shielded her from the quiet spectacle of Naoto’s ghostly transformation. Honestly, Fuuka had no idea Naoto’s behaviour was in any way linked to the void goo she’d made. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, nor did I find time to appropriate one from a morgue. I’d gone from one game of deception to another – from pretending to Naoto I was not her secret home-companion, to hiding from Fuuka Naoto’s worrying paranormal condition. Shame me if you must, Reader – I invite it. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive! And it yet it is coming all the more naturally to me, an uncanny acquisition of fostering humanity. I will speak no further of that business. The darkness passed. Naoto came back to us – but not quite as we’d remembered her.

It happened while we were sitting at the table, again. Fuuka and I were playing a lonely game of Uno. It was lonely because Fuuka asked Naoto, who was also at the table, listless, to play, and I had to interpret Naoto’s deathly silence as a stoic musing into the philosophical distance. Definitely not the silence of a zombie. Fuuka was quite affected by the rebuff, as I was beating her soundly, enough so that I briefly flirted with the possibility of going pro in my imagination.

Without warning, Naoto grabbed Fuuka by the front of her dress. She stared intently into Fuuka’s bewildered eyes.

“I never thanked you properly for the meal.” She leaned in close, her voice was barely above a whisper, so I leaned in too, to hear her.

“Nao...to...?”

“You must excuse me for my prior rudeness. My silence was a reverie in which I tried to articulate what your meal meant to me. Such an experience is truly life-changing, Fuuka. Am I making myself clear? You changed my life, Fuuka. That was the power you held over me with your culinary efforts.”

“You’re really too kind, Naoto...Would you like for me to cook for you again?”

 “NO!” Naoto shouted, pushing Fuuka away with a jolt and standing fixed, like she’d been struck by lightning. Slowly, she put one hand in her trouser pocket, another gently rubbing her nose, a pose of forced composure. “...no, there’s no need. I owe you enough as is. Please, you must allow me to do the cooking here from now on, to repay you. Such power as yours must be...employed only under specific circumstances.”

“You’re flattering me. Are you sure I can’t make you something—”

“Fuuka, please. There is little I want for more than to taste your cooking again, but I must prepare myself for it. The depth of flavour in your last meal was not something I was prepared for. Truly, it was exhilarating, but terrifying also. A revelation in every sense. I must ask you solemnly not to cook for me until I am ready, and only for me. The world is not ready for you. Now I must go outside for some fresh air. Aigis, would you like to join me?”

I did as the detective requested, eager for more information. I expected that, upon our talking privately, out of Fuuka’s earshot, Naoto’s demeanour would change – because I thought that she’d said to her were desperate, mad words. Reality was stranger. Naoto was still Naoto, but – and I cannot but say so obscurely – unburdened.

“Have you tried Fuuka’s cooking, Aigis?”

“No, never.”  
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Naoto stood facing the sky – the sun was setting and the evening was aglow, purpled and warm.

“Is it really that good? Fuuka has cooked for other mutual friends before, and...they’ve never reacted quite like you.”

“Good is the wrong word. A subjective qualifier of quality. It’s not about whether or not her food was good—it’s about what it made me _feel_. Was I....acting strange, these past few days?”

“You were completely unresponsive. I was worried you’d gone a little braindead or something, actually.”

“I see...I sincerely apologise for worrying you. If anything, the opposite was true. I was alive in ways I’ve never been before. Words do no justice to what it was—words are not things, they merely describe, imply at reality. I’ve lived an unusual life, all things considered...” She trailed off into silence, then frowned.

“Aigis, what was it I was talking about to you, before I ate from Fuuka’s bowl?”

“You were worried about a staff party. You don’t drink, so you were worried about losing control.”

“That’s true...I was.”

She was silent.

“You don’t feel worried any more?” I ventured a guess.

“I...I don’t know. I suppose I don’t—but I think I still _should_. What was _in_ that bowl of Fuuka’s?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I might need your investigative help again, Aigis. There’s a colloquial remark I hear a lot from certain criminals, words uncouth to my ear but ones that, nonetheless, accurately describe what Fuuka’s cooking did to me. I can’t help but wonder if what Fuuka served me was, legally, food. I can’t believe I’m saying this, Aigis, but Fuuka’s cooking made me high as balls.”

 


	11. An Invitation to Gay Paree

_Dear Reader,_

Hail. Aigis I be, and by my troth, a letter I write to ye. Do not flee from me till you hear my decree. Listen — would I not do the same for thee?

Does my rhyming tone please your ear? Let not a new style cause you fear. Speak th’ phrase aloud—and my voice is near. I am here despite not being here.

It is not just me you might find changed. Naoto, too, has become rather strange. Her moods and habits have enormous range, and occasionally, I must admit, she appears deranged.

Fuuka’s noticed the change, and she’s become rather blue. She feels awfully guilty for feeding Naoto that ‘stew’. She paces the room, wondering what to do. I’d offer a solution, if only I knew.

What cannot be told in poetry must make do in prose.

_Cosmic_Garden_ found my relation of Naoto’s mood curious, wondering if they might try to eat Fuuka’s cooking themselves. Fuuka herself would no longer recommend this. Indeed, Naoto is quite cavalier about the whole experience, but lately I’ve found Fuuka posing strangely in the bathroom mirror. When I asked her what the matter was, she said she was imagining what her mugshot would look like when she gets arrested and goes to jail forever. So I don’t think Fuuka is willing to cook again anytime soon.

_Sammy_ and _Not_An_Author_ were likewise interested in how Fuuka cooked her strange brew. If I analysed the cooking pot, I could find trace elements of the stew/broth mixture, cross-check with my database and faithfully preserve the recipe. Cooking isn’t my thing though. Neither is eating. Doesn’t look like my idea of fun.

_Luckenhaft_ opened their letter with a ‘how are you?’ my other readers did not bother with. I was pleased to be asked. Some of you ought to remember what the title of this tale is. If you want _The Whimsical Adventures of Naoto_ go somewhere else. DeviantArt or something. You might not like what you find. No, no wait—I’m sorry for that outburst. As a human-in-training I must be allowed to express negativity, which has its own role to play in the emotional spectrum. Anyway, _Luckenhaft_ asked how I was, and I’m fine. I’m actually really great. And I hope they, and all readers, are well also. Never let it be said I am not generous with my well-wishes.

Let’s get back to the story. I was in Chagall Café with Elizabeth, telling her about what happened since last we met.

“I already knew all that,” said Elizabeth, pouting.

I wasn’t sure if that was because Elizabeth was genuinely omniscient or if she had just been stalking me. If not both.

“You’re boring me, Aigis. I came here to have a good time. I want to have a con-ver-sa-tion, _Aigis_. Let’s not talk about the past. It’s dead. It’s done. It’s not alive, not like you or me. You hear me, Aigis? _We’re alive_ , Aigis. You and me can do anything. Let’s elope to Paris tomorrow.”

“I can’t do that.”

“False. What did I just say. Tell me, Aigis.”

“You said a lot of things.”

“I _said_ you and me can do anything. Nothing’s stopping us. Haven’t you ever wanted to see the Love-ra?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Imagine it, Aigis. You and me, _dans le métro_ , going to the Love-ra. No worries, no cares. Paris, 20XX.”

“I can’t leave Tokyo. You said so yourself, Elizabeth. The Dark Hour’s back. I need to be prepared for anything every full moon.”

Elizabeth sulkily sucked up her iced tea with a long straw. She looked at me like a spiteful gerbil. “No.”

Hard to argue with that, but I persisted.

“Yes.”

“You’re so _negative_ , Aigis. You’re never this negative. Usually you are cool and my friend.” She thrust an accusing pointed finger in my direction. “You’re upset about something. Something to do with Naoto and Fuuka.”

“It’s funny you say that, ‘cause I’m actually really happy right now.”

“Really.”

“I’m like the cat that got the cream.”  
“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. It means I’m happy.”

“I believe you,” Elizabeth said. She didn’t believe me. We sat in silence.

“I’m worried about them.”

“Knew it. Why?”

“Naoto says she’s okay, but isn’t like herself. She got up at sunrise yesterday and spent the whole day just watching the clouds. She was supposed to be investigating a new case, but when Fuuka asked her why she wasn’t investigating, Naoto said she was. ‘Sun goes up, clouds go by, sun goes down, everybody dies. That’s the real mystery.’”

“That doesn’t sound like Naoto.”

“You’ve never met her.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe I did.” Elizabeth stroked her chin, unsure if they’d met or not.

“It’s made Fuuka very nervous.”

“Isn’t she always—”

“More than usual. She’s whittling a shiv. Says she’s going to need to stab the biggest prisoner around day one, to send everyone else in jail a message.”

“Sound logic,” Elizabeth said guilelessly.

“She’s overreacting, but I don’t know what to tell her. It’s not as though Naoto, being as she is now, would accuse Fuuka of drugging her. I think Fuuka sort of wishes that Naoto does, though. If Naoto did do that, it’d be because she’d be back to normal.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “That’s stupid. ‘Normal’ is stupid. They’ll be fine.”

“I... I don’t know about that, Elizabeth.”

“You’ll see. I’ve given you my advice. If you don’t want it, that’s okay. If you don’t want to go to Paris, that’s okay too. Just don’t sit here and look glum at me.”

“I am very glum,” I conceded.

“I don’t want to see it. I want the happy Aigis. That’s who I want to see. If you’re not her, get the hell out of my office.”

“We’re in a café.”

“I know, I know. I always wanted to say that.”

I decided I would write to all of you before returning home, to ease my nerves. Maybe you have some advice, I don’t know. Elizabeth’s probably right. There’s nothing I can do. Feels strange, just being an observer to the lives of others. Something has to change. I need to change too.


	12. forgot to make this one funny oops

_Dear Reader,_

Do androids dream of electric sheep? A book in a store window asked me this. How did it know I was an android? I felt it might be impolite to inquire. Anyway, I’m answering here. Androids do dream of electric sheep. I don’t think I would have had I not been prompted by the image within the question, though. And after I dreamt of the electric sheep I imagined Fuuka in prison, and officers come into her cell to say ‘We’re giving you the death penalty and it’s going to kill you,’ and Fuuka responds by doing a sick ninja flip onto the ceiling and runs away. I think she’ll be totally fine in there.

Wait, no. What I meant to write was ‘there’s no way she’s actually going to prison, and my dream was just a dream.’ So forget the other thing.

Did you forget it? You better not write to me unless you tell me what you forgot, so I know you really did forget. I think that’s how forgetting is. I’m not very good at it. After the whole Ryoji thing I decided I wouldn’t forget things anymore, a decision easier on my brain than on a typical human’s. Though one not without caveats. I’m probably not the most efficient mechanical maiden out there, but that’s okay because I’m trying to be a human and not a mechanical maiden. And there aren’t any of those around anymore. Metis doesn’t count.

In other news, I’ve developed an interest in curtains. I will write more as my understanding of curtains increases accordingly.

I said before that I don’t sleep, didn’t I? I don’t sleep but I dream. It’s more appropriate to phrase it another way. I _can’t_ sleep. Research and observation has made me aware of the passive, vulnerable state someone is left in while they are asleep. I can mimic that state, but cannot commit to it. I’m too aware. Too awake. The reality of it quietly bothered me. Can one be human if one cannot do all a human does? I tried not to think of it. The events of the past ten hours or so have forced a change in perspective. But first—your letters.

_ThanosofTitan_ complimented me on my poetic ability, which I have interpreted to be a grave insult. It is impossible to be a skilled poet when one is doing poetry for the first time. Either the compliment I received was falsely stated, or the reader’s taste is questionable. I do not intend to rhyme for quite some time. Only diligent effort will produce something sublime.

The rest of your letters focused on the ongoing Naoto/Fuuka situation, which is a far less interesting topic than myself. I am obliged to respond nonetheless:

_Cosmic_Garden, Sammy_ and _angelAtrophy_ all offered their two cents. How much that is in yen, I don’t know, but that sombrero I got awhile back wasn’t cheap and I’m not exactly employed right now, so...it’d be nice to get a little more.

Anyway.

_Cosmic_Garden_ suggested a karmic solution – what Fuuka’s bad cooking taketh away Naoto’s sanity, an especially good meal will restore. Simple in theory, but not in practice. I am rather acquainted with the history and philosophy of the ancients – Greece and Rome and all that – and there is a recurrent theme among wise men, namely that ‘things can always get worse, but they seldom get better.’ To hope for a reversion to the mean is in itself praying for a miracle. And don’t get me started about religion. It’s a complicated subject for me, something I can only really express in terms of trains, and, perhaps soon, curtains. Besides, I don’t know anyone who can cook. No-one alive.

_angelAtrophy_ suggested a bonding activity to work out any awkwardness between Naoto and Fuuka. _Sammy_ also suggested communication, of some sort, between them. Communication is such a complicated thing. Fuuka is my friend, I know what she’s like. I hope she understands me too. I’ve only known Naoto for a short time, but I consider us friends. We’re learning to understand each other. Communication with others is not so difficult when you speak to people as individuals, but everyone has different social lives. I can’t force Fuuka and Naoto to get along with one another, even if they both get along with me. At present, I am not even sure if they _don’t_ get along. They are lost entirely within their own worlds. Fuuka’s nerves go haywire when Naoto is present, or if she’s mentioned, because of the guilt she feels. Naoto does not seem to hold any ill-will towards Fuuka, but nor does she...seem to feel anything that strongly. That they are not communicating honestly is plain to see, but it unnerves me that, theoretically, they could go on like this for quite some time, were I to do nothing. I don’t know what to do, but I know that I can’t do nothing. Sometimes I think too hard about these problems and want to run to the woods to yell, but there are no woods near where I am in Tokyo, so I write instead. I write what I cannot say. I do not know my readers all too well, but you may know me better than anyone else. It is nice to have that relationship, but it makes me feel sad, too. When others have problems they tend not to see yours.

I have not been sleeping. I cannot sleep; but usually I divert myself in the midnight hours with something or another. I’ve been writing this letter instead, and doing a lot of thinking. I always do a lot of thinking because I am a robot and am pretty good at it, but this thinking is different. It’s much more like feeling.

If the distance between Naoto and Fuuka were a Shadow, I would shoot it with my wrist-mounted machine guns. Or blast it with my grenade launcher. Or shoot rockets at it. Or zap it with a high-powered electromagnetic railgun. Or summon Athena to skewer it with her spear. What I’m saying is, I have ways of dealing with such problems. Like a flamethrower. But I can’t do that. A human problem requires a human solution. It makes me somewhat frustrated, but I can’t help but relish the challenge. I’m not going to be a spectator anymore! Fuuka and Naoto are going to be friends again! Fuuka’s not going to jail! Naoto’s going to work again! And Elizabeth won’t tell me to get the hell out of her office when we’re sitting in a café! Everything’s going to change!

Tomorrow. Everything’ll change tomorrow. Because it’s past midnight and everyone’s asleep except me, so I can’t do anything about anything. But I will not be cruel to you, reader, and send this letter to you without any further development to my Situation. I’ll attach my next one to this tomorrow.

The Next Day

Have you ever sat awake and alone on a silent night and worried about things that wouldn’t matter in the morning? I think I had one of those experiences. Please ignore any trace of anxiety in my previous letter. It is all a-okay now. Fine and also dandy.

Naoto was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee at the break of dawn. “Good morning, Aigis. You’re up early.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I didn’t go to work yesterday, so I’m going to work overtime today and make up for it. A long day ahead.” She spoke wearily, but with a smile.

“I was awake all of last night thinking, so I decided to just start my day now.”

“Oh? What were you thinking about?”

I looked at her flatly. “You and Fuuka. It’s been weird being around you two. Are you not talking?”

Naoto poured a small jug of milk into her coffee and stirred it. “I wouldn’t say we’re _not_ talking, but I wouldn’t say we’re talking either...”

“She’s been petrified, worried about what happened to you since you tried her cooking. Almost hysteric. Convinced she’s going to prison.”

Naoto awkwardly smiled. “She’s not going to prison.”

“You were acting so oddly, I guess she thought anything could happen.”

“I suppose I was...Well, you can promise her I’m back to normal now. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I think _you_ need to tell her that, Naoto.”

She thought about that silently for a moment.

“That’s true.”

She glanced at the offending bowl sitting atop the kitchen counter.

“I wonder if I can get her to try it herself...”

“You’re still hung up on her cooking?”

Naoto cast a quizzical eye upon me. “It was like nothing else in my life. No...it was like one other experience...Hm. A mystery within a mystery...” She found herself trailing off into another reverie, and stopped.

“I’m sorry, Aigis. I didn’t mean to cause Fuuka any undue stress, nor you any bother. I’ll speak to her, and won’t bring up the subject of her cooking with you anymore. I must’ve been a dreadful bore about it.”

“Yes, pretty much.”

She chuckled inwardly. “Then please accept my apology. I should be out of work shortly before midnight tonight. What say the three of us meet at Chagall Café. We can drink hot cocoa and have girl talk.” Naoto’s voice took an odd inflection on that last line, as if she was reciting words not entirely her own. It reminded me of when she talked about the staff party.

“Sure, Naoto. Sounds like fun.”

She smiled again, gathered her things and left for work. Another ‘ _rank up_ ’ echoed through my mind. I let out a deep sigh and walked out to the balcony to catch the warmth of the morning sun. What was I to do today? Why not...anything?

 

 

 


End file.
